


Deep Breath

by darthsydious



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Near Death, Sherlock is soft boi, victorian!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:27:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28496790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthsydious/pseuds/darthsydious
Summary: Prompt: I was drowning in the sea and you jumped in to save me because the beach watch was taking their merry time"
Relationships: Warstan - Relationship, sherlolly
Comments: 5
Kudos: 65





	Deep Breath

The fall seemed to take forever. Sherlock watched as Molly Hooper toppled over the parapet and into the ocean, her skirts pulling her under. Without a second thought, Sherlock Holmes threw off his coat and hat, leapt up onto the barrier and dove into the frigid sea.

“Holmes!” Watson shouted. Mary was already grabbing Sherlock’s coat and hat, tugging her husband by the arm.

“Come on, we need to find the beach watch!”

“Can you see them?!” Watson shouted over the roar of the waves.

“She’s gone under,” Mary called.

Molly Hooper struggled against the sea. The waves rolled her over and over, the oncoming storm stirred up the waters, and she was so small against such a powerful force. Her skirts tangled about her legs, making it impossible to kick. She cursed every undergarment on her person. Her hands were freezing, her gloves made it difficult to find the hooks. If she could just get her petticoats off! Choking back salt water, eyes burning, she kicked, trying to breach the surface as she tore at her skirts. Her hat long gone, she struggled to the surface, feeling herself upended again and again. Finally, she felt cold air rushing around her, and she gasped, the air burning her lungs. She felt lightheaded. Waves crashed and she felt herself sinking again. She fought for the surface, choking, swallowing back what felt like a bellyful of saltwater. She felt as if her ears would burst, she could hear herself gulp, her lungs begging her to open her mouth for air. Her vision grew dim, her hands still numbly yanking at her skirts, anything to lighten her. Suddenly, in the dark water she felt a pair of hands grasping her waist, pushing her hands out of the way, ripping her skirts. Her legs finally free, she felt her bustle pulled off, and the bottom brackets of her corset ripped open. The hands were at her bodice, she tried to see through the water, knowing somehow it was Sherlock. Who else would dive into the ocean and rip her clothes off? Certainly not the man who pushed her in. The muffled noise of the waves, the feeling of Sherlock pulling her close, propelling them upwards, pushing her to the surface- it all seemed to fade away, and she wondered if the burning sensation in her chest would follow her to her grave.

Mary and John sprinted down the boardwalk, down the steps to the beach. Kicking up clumps of wet sand as they ran, they shouted, directing Sherlock toward shore. He swam on his side, his free arm holding Molly propped against him, to keep her head above the waves.

“She’s unconscious, John- John-“ Mary cried. John ran out to the water meeting Sherlock, both of them soaked to the skin as they hauled the unconscious pathologist up and out of the water. The beach watch came trotting over, lugging a medical bag.

“Where the hell were you?!” Sherlock barely shouted out before vomiting up seawater. “Watson,” the doctor was already bending over Molly, taking the stethoscope from the beach watch’s bag.

“Heartbeat, faint, Mary, open her bodice, get the corset off her, you, find a blanket, now,” Watson barked, and the lifeguard hurried back to the shanty as Mary set to work removing the undergarment. The rest of the corset was removed, and Molly lurched over onto her belly, able to finally take a proper breath. She coughed up water, hacking and spitting. Head in her elbows, she heaved a sob, overcome. Mary leaned over her, stroking her back.  
“There, there, you’re alright, get the rest of it up, rest, rest, Molly don’t move,” her voice was strong, despite the tears in her eyes. “John, give me that coat,” Watson settled Sherlock’s dry coat over Molly’s frame, tucking it around her.

“Don’t try to stand yet, either of you, catch your breath,” he cautioned. Sherlock flopped onto his back, taking deep breaths, but he kept his eye on Molly, who leaned on all fours, hair matted over her face. He reached over, pushing her hair out of the way. She met his gaze, eyes red from the saltwater.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” she panted. He smiled faintly, too weary to answer, but thrilled to the core that she used his given name. The lifeguard returned, followed by a police officer, having finally heard the commotion. Blankets distributed, they set back for the hotel, exhausted.

Later that night, Molly sat resting on the sofa by the fireplace, tucked up with a hot water bottle at her feet and a blanket over her lap. There was a soft knock on her door.

“Yes?”

Slowly the door opened, and Sherlock’s head poked around the corner.

“May I come in?”

“Yes of course,” she absentmindedly checked the collar of her dressing gown, seeing it was in place. Her hair, almost dry, hung in a long braid down her back. Sherlock shut the door behind him, coming to stand by the fire. “Won’t you sit down?” He took the low table, shifting the tea tray to one side. “Will you have a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you,” he murmured. “I only mean to stay for a moment to see how you are.”

“Warming up, slowly, and you?”

“Perfectly well.” Silence settled between them, and Molly disliked that she felt so awkward. “Why did you jump in after me?” she asked at last.

He looked up, startled that she would even wonder. Molly knew when Sherlock was putting her on, and she watched as he quickly attempted some kind of careless attitude, but the crack in his voice gave him away. 

“Oh…the beach watch was taking their merry time,” he murmured. He finally looked up at her, knowing she did not believe him for a moment. “A handful of seconds can seem like an eternity, and I could not wait any longer. You were gone from my sight for all of four seconds, and it was too long for me.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t wait.”

He bent, pressing the back of her hands, squeezing her fingers. “I could not live if anything were to happen to you because of me.”

“Yes, you could,” she gave a half-smile. “Of course you could, and would.”

“I would not _like_ to then,” he amended. He kept on holding her hands. “Your fingers are still cold.”

“The only part of me that can’t seem to warm,” she murmured, embarrassed. He cupped his hands over hers, gently squeezing.

“I wish-“ he began. _I wish I could stay_ was the unfinished thought, but someone knocked on the door to the adjoining room (John and Mary’s).

“Molly? May I come in?” Still looking at Sherlock, Molly finally drew breath, and he swore she had understood his unspoken wish.

“Yes, Mary, of course.” He did not release her hands, much to her pleasure and embarrassment. Mary smiled at the pair of them, saying nothing of what she had most likely overheard.

“John wants you to have this, it’s just warm milk with laudenum to help settle your nerves and help you sleep.”

“I should go,” Sherlock got to his feet and Molly watched him move towards the far door. Mary saw the lingering gaze in the pathologist’s eyes and smiled to herself.

“Sherlock, perhaps you can help me get Molly to bed, before you go, John is downstairs at the moment.” He obliged, but rather than help her stand, he bent and lifted Molly in his arms as Mary pushed back the bedcovers. He settled her gently between the sheets and Mary tucked her in. Hot water bottle at her feet, Sherlock set the mug of warm milk at the bedside. “Goodnight Sherlock,” Mary said, knowing if she let him any nearer to Molly, John would absolutely have her head. Quickly, hands behind his back, Sherlock stepped away, bowing his head.

“Yes, goodnight, Mary,” he looked back to Molly unable to tear his gaze away from her. “Sleep well, Molly.” He paused by the door, about to go when he turned. “Perhaps, you might accompany me tomorrow, if you are able, there is a particular question I should like your opinion on.” Molly fiddled with the blankets; eyes shining. She gave the tiniest of nods, flushed and beaming.

“Yes of course,” he nodded and seeing Mary still watching him, quickly departed.

“Now there’s a thing,” Mary breathed, and both collapsed in a fit of giggles, too overcome for words. John came to stand in the doorway, hearing their laughter.

“What?”

“Nothing, John,” Mary excused, and Molly picked up her cup. Her complexion was much better, she seemed all lit up inside. Mary crossed the room, taking her husband’s hand. “It seems Sherlock is finally ready to get his feet wet.”

“Oh. What?” John frowned again, confused. Mary only tugged him through to their adjoining room, winking at Molly as she shut the door. About to put out her light, she heard a soft tap on her door.

“Yes?” she called softly. Sherlock appeared, just poking his head through the doorway.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said, his voice hushed. “I’m going to ask you to marry me tomorrow.” Molly did her best to smother her smile but failed spectacularly. He glanced from side to side, chewing on his lip. “I don’t know why I told you that.”

“It’s all right,” she said with a laugh. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until tomorrow for my answer.” He bowed his head, sighing heavily.

“Mollyyyyyy…” he whined, hushed though he was smiling. She shushed him.

“Goodnight, Sherlock,”

“Have Mary and John gone to bed?”

“Yes, only just,” he scurried across the room, leaned over and warmly pressed a lingering kiss to her lips.

“Goodnight Molly.”

“Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?” He blinked, glanced at the closed door to John and Mary’s room, and then nodded, his unspoken wish earlier suddenly a reality, he found himself quite shy. He pulled a chair over to her bedside as she finished her tea and laudenum. Putting out the lamp, he waited for her to settle under the blankets. After a moment, she reached for his hand and he took it.

“I should stay forever if you let me,” he murmured. Molly blinked sleepily, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

“I’m still not telling you until tomorrow.”

“It is almost midnight-“

“Goodnight, Sherlock.” He sighed, smiling a little as she squeezed his hand.

“Goodnight Molly.”


End file.
